Psychopomp
by Vaylyn
Summary: Odin's hall is always preparing for Ragnarok. Fallen warriors become Einherjar. FrostIron


Contains character death.

Thanks to Incendiarist for beta reading.

* * *

**Psychopomp**

The ashes drifting off the towers and skyscrapers looked like feathers, long and wispy; black as soot. They came down lazily, almost in slow motion. The sounds of battle grew fainter, muted. A raven, large and scruffy (they had those in New York?) cawed at him, making him turn his head to see it. The noise was unwelcome, like an alarm clock. Its wings rustled, flapped and the large bird croaked again, taking to the air briefly only to land on the shoulder of the person who now stood over him.

She was a beautiful woman, curvaceous, dressed in business formal greys. Her suit jacket was long and well-tailored, longer than her skirt which only came down to mid-thigh. Her heels were high and silver and she seemed to shine, but Tony could only squint up at her and debate whether or not he should start flirting. She was smiling at him and he could only be baffled that this vision, this woman without a blonde hair out of place on a battlefield, was smiling down at him in his broken suit. She extended a hand, and Tony had to take it. She smiled so serenely, so benevolently, she had to be taking him somewhere good. He tried to raise his hand, but it was difficult. It felt so heavy, like swimming in lead. It took him a moment to remember the power to his suit was out. If he could just take the armor off, he'd be fine, but it was so heavy…

He sucked in as much air to his battered lungs as he could, drawing on his last remnants of strength to push his arm up. Trembling, bloodied fingers met a smooth, cool palm and he struggled further, seeking respite from his own violent shivering. The raven called again, fluttered off the woman's shoulder (wasn't it strange for large carrion birds to be so friendly?) and landed on the remains of a nearby vehicle. He turned his head, wondering what had startled the bird. The woman glanced over as well, her icy blue eyes lighting on a figure familiar to Tony.

His outstretched hand came into focus first, fingers long and thin; those of an artist. Tony always felt those sort of hands were made to be clever in bed. The black, green and gold armor blurred, swirled, and Tony felt he was looking at another raven, wings fluttering in the wind as black feathers continued to rain from the heavens. Jade green eyes, a pale face framed by coal-dark hair, skin marred by dirt and smoke. His lips, he knew those lips. Tony thought he could see them move, but he couldn't hear anything. He wanted to wait, to see what this man wanted (he knew him, knew him very well. Didn't he?) but his hand closed around the woman's, and then all thoughts of that man and the battle that had gone on around him were gone. He was gone.

The raven croaked almost mournfully at the man in black and green and gold, who had collapsed in the street, then launched itself into the air. In seconds it was lost in the ash and smoke, the beating of its wings drowned out by a wail and the crash of newfound destruction.

* * *

Heimdall's horn sounded and he was called to the battlefield. There were thousands of them, all armored and carrying weapons, but he didn't think he'd ever wielded one of these, not in anything but jest. Somehow he knew how to use the weapon though, and he wasn't worried. In fact, he was looking forward to taking the field. There's someone he wanted to see, someone he knew would be there, someone he hadn't seen for a very long time. He couldn't quite remember the name, but he'd know his face and now he just needed to find him. He strode forth in red and gold, the colours calling something long lost to mind, and it itched, but came no closer to clarity.

There was fire everywhere. Everyone was fighting, and so many were dying. He killed those who were in his way as quickly as possible when he couldn't move around them, and he's careful to skirt the one-eyed old man battling a large and ferocious wolf. The battlefield was vast, and there were countless enemies, and his arms grew weary. He hurried forward.

On a cliff nearby he spied someone he thought he used to know swinging a large hammer at a very large snake. Lightning struck the cliff's edge, and he really thought he should know that man, but the memory remained stubbornly buried. He carried on, avoiding the flames and dispatching another giant with his mace. The giant's helm caved in, but he paid it little mind.

On a shore not too far from a one-handed man fighting a large hound, he saw something that struck a chord. It was a ship, timbers black and sails tattered. He saw a raven in his mind's eye and turned, spotting Heimdall. The Gatekeeper was battling someone, twisting to avoid a thrown knife. There's a flash, Heimdall stumbles, and Tony sees who he'd been looking for all this time.

He was tall, lithe and graceful for all the fighting he'd done and as worn out as he looked. Wrathful green eyes in sharp features, armour that once gleamed gold with green scales now dirtied and tarnished. The Gatekeeper's sword struck out and he (Loki was his name, he remembered now) twisted deftly aside, countering with a dagger which struck true. They were all surprised by the low crack and accompanying rumble of the ground underneath their feet. He turned and all he saw was the giant serpent laying in the blood and dirt, crushing friend and foe alike. The blond with the hammer was striding their way, his blue eyes locked on his own, and there was recognition there (unshared, because he couldn't manage to connect the face to a name, no matter how he tried), but there was no time between the god striding and the god collapsing, and he somehow knew he was dead, so he turned back to Heimdall and his opponent. The fire was spreading.

Loki darted around the Gatekeeper, magic flaring, and the stockier man was blasted away, golden armour dented. He paused and struck out again, turning quickly to attack the foe he'd seen from the corner of his eye, and he wasn't prepared. A blade in his lungs, and Loki stopped dead (not funny, he had to remind himself), eyes wide and breath stilling.

"_Tony?_" (Yes, that's it, his name was Tony. Anthony. Stark. Iron Man.) There was breathless hope there, longing and something bitter. But Tony didn't have time to place it as the god was startled again, eyes impossibly wide. A blade protruded this time from Loki's chest, and Tony thought this wasn't fair. There never seemed to be enough time. Loki coughed, the blade was retracted, and Tony caught the stricken god, almost falling over himself as he weakened. Heimdall's eyes were gold and red and his gaze fixed on Tony. That gaze was somehow pitying, omniscient, and though Tony didn't remember much, he knew that the Gatekeeper knew everything about him, and he felt somewhat naked.

He gathered Loki to him, and the god trembled. Heimdall gave them both an assessing look, and turned, and then Loki was suddenly back on his feet, a long dagger (the same one that had struck him mortally only a moment ago and Tony's not certain when it was retrieved from his chest) sheathed to the hilt in the other's body. They both collapsed at the same time, but Loki was turning back to him, and Heimdall had this look like he knew what was going to happen, but couldn't bring himself to stop it (_fated_).

A loud cry and a snarl made him turn. The wolf he'd seen earlier had triumphed over the one-eyed man, it would seem.

The fires grew hotter. The waves of the ocean were rising, angry, foam overtaking the cliffs and beachhead. There was a hand on his jaw, and he turned back. Loki's eyes were upon him, full of emotions he couldn't put a name to, but if he had to name one he might have called it relief. There was blood on his lips, dripping from his chin. "'d hoped I'd see you again," said Loki. "Saw the Valkyrie take you. Should have kept you by my side…" His voice was like silk, but roughened, stained by his blood. He was breathing shallowly, and like himself, Tony knew he hadn't much more time. He swallowed roughly, hating the copper taste in his mouth. It felt like dying (again).

"Thought I'd lost you… Couldn't remember for so long. Just knew I had to find someone, and you'd be here." He coughed and tried to clear his throat. That sharp grin appeared on Loki's face again that he could never really forget, but his teeth were red. There was an elegant hand in his hair, on the back of his neck, and he's pulled down for a kiss. It wasn't romantic, but desperate instead, and they clung to each other like the world was ending (it was, though, wasn't it?). Tony thought it was much more comfortable on the ground so he stayed there, beside the god. Things were getting quiet again, and he heard Loki this time when he murmured, "The nine worlds are burning. 'll be reborn. Wickedness"—he coughed wetly, but continued—"and misery will no longer exist… And we'll live peacefully together." Black hair was falling into Loki's jade eyes, and Tony can see raven's feathers again, floating from the sky. They were soft as he touched one that had fallen onto Loki's cheek, but it fell apart like ash, and Tony knew the time had come. There was one last admonishment from Loki before he saw the raven descend: "Do be on time, Stark."

He only grinned, unable to muster the energy to talk, but he knew that Loki knew Tony would never be anything but fashionably late.

But he'd be there. Count on it.

Fin (or is that a beginning?)


End file.
